


Sally Winchester Walks In To A Bar!

by millygal



Series: Heart [2]
Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Community: intoabar, M/M, Porn, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 02:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: They've both got their own grudges to bear but right in this moment, whatever it is they need, they're going to take.





	Sally Winchester Walks In To A Bar!

**Author's Note:**

> Created for intoabar This was written as a vignette to the already established 'verse of Heart of the Problem. Spike and Angel have already encountered Sam and Dean. Angel has already tapped Sammy ;) That fic was set in Season 8, this one is set during Season 9. Thank you to wings128, theatregirl7299, sw0rdy and jj1564 for read through's, suggestions and beta work! You ladies rock my world!

How come when all you want is a little peace and quiet, a hard drink and possibly a fast woman, or man, there's always some bastard propping up the bar who knows you?!

It's been a fuck of a month, Sam's not in the mood for being social and he's certainly not in the mood for acerbic British dead guy humour. "Captain Peroxide, what brings you to Kansas?"

Spike's clearly half cut already and for a two hundred and change vampire with the constitution of a professional drunk, that's quite impressive.

"Sally Winchester, how the fuck are you?"

Sam grinds his teeth and slides onto a stool, waving his hand at the barman who's already pouring him a whiskey on the rocks, sans rocks. "Been better, been way better. You? I'm assuming seeing as Angel isn't flapping his great coat and wiggling his impressive brow ridge, that you two aren't on a romantic get away."

Spike laughs into his bottle of beer, spraying froth across the bar and up his nose. "Assht...asti...ashtu...great observation there, Sammy."

Rubbing the edge of the cool glass against his aching forehead, Sam sighs and tries not to smash it into the side of Spike's face. "Sam, it's **Sam**!"

Spike raises a scarred eyebrow and clicks his fingers in the general direction of the guy in charge of the alcohol. "On the outs with Dean again, I see."

It's all Sam can do not to drag Spike off his stool and start stomping on his un-dead chest with his steal-capped boot.

He realises he really needs to stop with the anger, or he's gonna get himself thrown out of the only bar within walking distance of the Bunker. "Can we cut the crap, Spike? I'm way too tired. What _are_ you doing here, anyway?"

Spike nods and tips his fresh beer at Sam before spinning on his stool. "Overhanging Forehead went and got himself a little fling somewhere in the Pacific North West and I wasn't invited."

Sam tilts his head and smirks at Spike. "I thought you two weren't **jealous** types?"

Spike snorts and downs half his beer before sloppily wiping his mouth on the arm of his leather jacket. "Usually, that would be perfectly true, but I draw the line at him sneaking off to bone the Slayer and _not_ telling me. We had a deal. Deal's off, so's my ability to keep a hold on to my libido and temper. He can sit in his own smug juices and stew for a bit."

Sam can't help it, he chuckles, garnering an enraged look from the blond. He thought _he_ had it bad. The fact that Spike looks like someone kicked him in the puppy isn't helping matters and somewhere deep down the Hunter feels sorrow for the demon who's usually so well put together.

The whiskey's working it's magic and Sam's chest is beginning to loosen up, his shoulders don't feel quite so hunched, and he's almost in a good mood. Another double and he might even be able to forget the fact he's so pissed at his brother.

"So what you're saying is you came _here_ to see if you could catch a little tail? You do realise this is Kansas, right? Land of flatness and farmer's daughters. Not really what I pictured you going for!"

Spike shakes his head and wonders how this bloke managed to save the world, numerous times! "There's lots of fun to be had with farmer's daughters, love, but no Sam, I came here looking for _you_!"

That brings Sam up short. Just as he's about to take a nice big swallow of burning amber liquid, instead it ends up down his chin and adorning his favourite v-neck. "Wha...How the fuck did you even know where to look?!?"

Spike grins at Sam and uses his cool thumb to wipe away droplets of whiskey before sucking the digit into his mouth.

Sam's eyes darken and the base of his spine begins to tingle. There's no denying that just as Angel's 70% cocoa routine made his toes curl, Spike's creamy white goodness does some interesting things to his nervous system.

"Turns out you're quite the tale to tell where my Step-Sire is concerned. He's been bragging about bedding you for bloody ever! And no, before you get all girly on me, I'm not just here to piss Peaches off! I honestly wanted to know what all the fuss was about."

Sam lets his eyes drift closed, remembering the feel of icy marble sliding within warm flesh, before shaking himself back to the present. "That still doesn't explain where you got our location from."

"I've got my own contacts. Called in a few favours."

Before Sam knows what's happening he's being guided off his stool and towards the backdoor of the bar. Spike's hands are arctic compared to his rising temperature and he can feel goosebumps forming even though there's a layer of plaid between him and the fingers kneading his shoulders. "Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Spike leans in close, raises himself up on tiptoe just so he can lap at the tender spot below Sam's ear. "You've seen me, right? I'm not exactly Joey The Dog Faced Boy!"

The sound Sam emits is neither chuckle nor gurgle but some weird mash up of the two, creating the effect of a mouth breather drowning. "We're still in the bar, Spike, tug it back until we're outside!"

Spike continues to gently nudge Sam towards the outside whilst taking a quick scan of the dim musty room.

All he can see are looks of envy.

Some directed at Sam, most directed at him. "I'm thinking the residents of Lebanon, Kansas aren't so much fussed by your leanings, more that you haven't leaned on any of _them_."

Sam lets that one slide on by as he's bodily shoved out the backdoor, not really interested in anything other than the trickle of pre-come slowly making it's way down the inside of his thigh, adhering denim to flesh. "Spike, if you don't stop talki...Oomph!"

The safety door isn't even fully locked in place before Spike uses his superior strength to pin Sam to the opposite wall. "You were saying?!"

Sam pushes back, hard, managing to free himself enough to spin in the Vampire's arms. "You really are a complete asshole, you know that, don't you?"

When you put a man who's over two hundred years old in an alleyway with a guy who kills his kind for a living and watch them wrestle it out, there should be some kind of admission charged. And possibly oil involved.

Spike's not shy about force, never has been. In his experience if they've made it to _about-to-be-naked_ they're into the whole, 'I can break you with my little finger!', thing. Watching Sam fight his natural instincts, however, is a new kind of high. He suddenly understands why Angel wouldn't shut the hell up about managing to ride it like he stole it! "Loud and proud Sammy, loud and proud!"

Dean's nickname for Sam on Spike's lips is all the Hunter needs to _really_ push back. They make the leap from playful hard to full on sexual warfare as Sam reaches down and roughly grabs at Spike's cock through skin tight denim. "Stop yapping and fuck me!"

Spike howls and morphs into his Vampire visage before using clawed hands to shred Sam's shirts. Watching tatters of cotton and plaid fall to the damp pavement he finds himself overtaken with the urge to bite, but knows the second his fangs make contact with flesh he could well be a big pile of ash. "Turn round, **now**!"

Sam doesn't hesitate, remembering what it felt like to have Angel take him over completely. How the coolness of his skin coupled with the warm pulse of blood in an ice cold cock was the most mesmerising sensation.

The one difference between Spike and Angel; Angel nurtures, Spike takes, and right now Sam needs something to quiet the growing kernel of hatred he's been harbouring for a man who's meant more to him than any other soul on the planet.

If Dean could see him now...

That thought alone allows him to give leave of all his Hunter senses as he slams both palms against moist brickwork, revelling in the ragged edges cutting into his palms. "Just, leave me the jeans, okay?"

Spike laughs low as he reaches round and yanks Sam's zipper down. "your wish, Sam, your wish!"

It's not romantic and it certainly isn't choreographed but once Sam's pert ass hits open air Spike doesn't flinch.

His jeans hang low under his cheeks and Sam forces his spine into a supine position so Spike can run the tip of his already granite hard cock against an unprepared hole.

For once Spike stutters. "Sam, you're not..."

"I don't care. _Fuck_ me!"

The Hunter's willingness to allow such a thing forces a violent spurt of pre-come from Spike's cock and he doesn't ask again.

They've both got their own grudges to bear but right in this moment, whatever it is they need, they're going to take. "Ready or not..."

Sam braces for impact and digs already split nails into red brick, creating a cascade of dust that falls into his eyes and mouth.

Spike doesn't even bother spitting in his palm and greasing the way, he just forces the tip of his cock, thoroughly coated in sticky opaque fluid, inside Sam's grasping heat. It's going to be fast and dirty and he's fairly sure neither one of them minds. "Holy Shit!"

Sam lets his forehead hit brick and rides out the first waves of agony, knowing that the temperature of Spike's shaft will sooth the ache.

It's the first time in a long time that Spike's been inside warmth and his whole body is responding. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest, which should be fucking impossible and yet, whilst buried inside Sam Winchester doesn't seem so far fetched!

Shuddering breaths and halting words of encouragement follow each man to the edge as Spike ups his speed and Sam slams back in time. Between them they manage to shunt the other off the cliff.

Spike works hard not to reach out and taste, and Sam's slightly disappointed that he can't feel the sharpness of fang he was so looking forward to.

And it has _nothing_ to do with Dean's imagined reaction, not at **all**.

It's been barely five minutes between leaving the bar and watching his come slither down Sam's thigh, but Spike finally feels sated. "Fuck me Hunter, you give as good as you get!"

Sam sucks down lung-fulls of air as he tries to clean himself up, tuck himself in. "Right back atcha, Vampire!"

Once they're fully clothed, once they're both smirking at the other, neither bothers to say a word, simply nodding and walking away.

Spike may just decide to stick around, if this is what being pissed at Dean means, and Sam may consider a standing invitation to the bar, if he's gonna run in to a certain pulse deprived individual again!


End file.
